


Three Days of Christmas in March

by Klaus69Xx



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison's murder family, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Asexual Kira, Christmas Decorations, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaus69Xx/pseuds/Klaus69Xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison comes home to a Christmas tree, two very determined friends and a tragic backstory (oh wait, that one she had before). </p><p>Cue personalized decorations, drinking that isn't a solution, and mischievous mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days of Christmas in March

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge of supernatural required.  
>  
> 
> First of all I want to thank the hosts of this exchange for their work and the amazing possibility, I loved working on this fic! Second so much love to [random-ravenclaw](http://random-ravenclaw.tumblr.com/) and [kinkystiles](http://kinkystiles.tumblr.com/) who saved me and this story, you guys were amazing betas. The last thank you goes out to my cat for not walking over my keyboard (she did try) but for only leaving her hairs all over my desk <3

Allison's life has always been filled with strange, and more importantly, dangerous things. She doesn’t take chances.  
So when she notices the tree in the living room that wasn’t there when she left, she pulls out a dagger, just in case. The enormous pine tree before her lets a few needles fall. It, well, isn’t very threatening. Still better safe than sorry, she lays her grocery bag down and moves forward step for step.

“Kira? Lydia?” she calls out.

That's when Kira rounds the corner and almost lets a bowl full of candy canes fall when she sees Allison.

“Allison! What are you doing here alr...,” Kira stammers. “Ah, I mean, hey,” she ends lamely, and makes a half-hearted attempt of hiding the tree by stepping in front of it.

Allison sheaths her knife and relaxes her posture. She looks at the tree again and raises one eyebrow. “Are we killing a pagan god someone has forgotten to tell me about?”

“We really need to start working on your holiday spirit,” Lydia says gleefully as she pops up behind Kira, from whom she takes the bowl to offer, “candy cane?”

Allison opens her mouth, but all she can do is stare at her friends for a moment before she says: “Lydia, it’s March.”

“We actually thought you would be gone a bit longer so we could get at least some of the decorations up,” Kira says. “We wanted to surprise you,” she adds sheepishly.

“You need a break, Allison. And since we couldn’t celebrate last Christmas because of the Rougaro incident, why shouldn’t we have the fun on Jesus’ actual birthdate, March ninth?” Lydia explains, still smiling but with a determined edge in her voice: she won't back down.

Allison feels the corners of her mouth drop and anger rise up. She hates herself for it, but before she can say anything, Kira hastily speaks up.

“I was really confused too when Lydia said March, but it's explained by how Christians didn’t document birthdates back then.”

“It was more important when a martyr died as this symbolized their birth in heaven,” the banshee says as Allison still doesn’t seem to comprehend. “Which is why we know exactly when Jesus died. But scientists have worked out March 9th as Jesus’ most likely birthday, which would be the actual day for Christmas celebrations. So you better get me a good present.”

Lydia winks at Allison, but instead of smiling back, she takes a deep breath.

“This is sweet, and very nice... But I don’t need it. I'm fine.”

Lydia looks like she wants to call bullshit right away, but Kira launches in. She steps forward until she is standing less than an arm’s length away from Allison, and the hunter notices absently that underneath her turmoil of emotions, her heart rate speeds up. _Weird._

“We know, but we’re your family now, and that’s what family is supposed to do. “ Kira's cheeks start to heat up and she hastily adds, “I mean we could be your family. Like I don’t mean in blood. Of course we can't be actually related, you would have known if you had sisters and you don’t... like if you don't want to, we could stay friends. I- we can't just replace them.”

She stops herself by clasping her hand over her mouth and turns to Lydia with wide eyes.

“What she means is that we’re a family in bond. After all we've been through together, what we’ve done and seen, I think it's safe to assume that we’re more than just friends. So we’re going to celebrate a family holiday together because we are here for you,” Lydia says. More softly, she adds, “you can't keep on beating yourself up for the choice you made.”

She reaches out to Allison and her hand hangs in the air. Allison pushes away the rising voice of her mother: _you are weak, you are a disappointment, and you are too young to know right from wrong_ , and after only a second, takes her best friend’s hand. It’s warm, and fits so perfectly into hers. A tingle sweeps up her arm.

“Thanks,” she says softly, and she means it.

“Christmas is saved!” Kira crosses the last few feet of space between them, smiling like the Grinch just brought back her presents.

Lydia only rolls her eyes and takes Kira’s hand to place it on top of theirs. For a short insane moment, Allison thinks Lydia wants to perform a witch ritual, merging their life forces and binding them together forever. Lydia brings her back to reality by tugging at her hand.

“You were only gone shortly, but I hope you got all the stuff on your shopping list, because we have big plans.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh no Lydia, don’t! I hate these things.”

Allison looks up from sorting through the box of Christmas bulbs the others found at a thrift shop and sees Lydia raising mistletoe to the kitchen doorway, with Kira pouting next to her.

“What?” Lydia says reproachfully, trying to come off as innocent, but failing by miles. “I actually had my third kiss under one of these.”

“What?! Your third doesn’t count for anything!” Kira squeaks.

Kira looks more like a kitten than a fearsome fox, and Lydia tries to defend herself by acting as though she’s absorbed every piece of knowledge there is, including the Kama Sutra. Allison can't help but to laugh to see her two best friends fighting like that.

Lydia smirks and throws her a quick look. Batting her eyelashes at Kira, she says, “but it was my first good one!”

At Kira’s affronted look she amends. “Lighten up, Vixen. I won’t make you do anything you didn’t want.”

Lydia holds the mistletoe over their heads and presses a quick kiss onto Kira's nose. Allison wishes she had a camera; it would have made the perfect Christmas card.

Prompted by the thought, Allison’s eyes fall on the card Stiles has sent them, and she can't help but snort. The front sports little pink paper hearts wearing even smaller Santa hats. He and his boyfriends also seem to have attempted to drown the card in glitter. It’s so cute that Allison can’t help but pick it up. Three loose photos have been slipped inside, beside a text wishing them a Happy Christmas and telling them to keep an eye out for the Grinch, "a monster that could totally be out there".

The first photo shows Danny squeezing tons of pink glitter glue onto paper hearts while Derek sits disgruntled next to him. Boyd stares flat-out into the camera, his trademark expression clearly broadcasting, _are you kidding me?_ In the next photo, Stiles’ head takes up most of the space in a failed attempt at a selfie with the others. With his face obscuring most of the frame, only Derek is visible in the background as he cuts out little Santa hats. The last photo shows a grinning and delighted Danny and a towering Derek forcing Boyd to cut out little pink paper hearts too.

“Looks like they’re all still alright,” Lydia remarks over Allison’s shoulder, smirking at Boyd's disgruntled look.

“It's a wonder,” Allison says with a shake of her head. The grouping had not been one she had seen coming, but they are undeniably cute and, in their own way, even harmonic.

As if she had read her mind, Kira says, “polyamory suits them.” She giggles. “Could you have imagined?”

Allison tries to flick loose glitter from the card at Kira and says, grinning, “of course you would have a problem with it.”

“I'm asexual, not aromantic!” Kira successfully bats Allison´s hand away from the glitter. “And I just mean as if dating one person isn’t already enough work.”

“They look like it pays off, though,” Lydia says.

Allison smiles at the photos of their friends and silently agrees. They definitely should visit them over their "Christmas holidays". She frowns as she thinks about how long it’s been since they saw each other, outside of quick check-ins. Actually, she realizes, they haven’t since her falling out with her family.

A dark wave of achingly familiar sadness washes over her. She wants to move, to shake it loose, but she can't. She can only close her eyes against the burning feeling that’s welling up. She almost doesn’t notice when Lydia speaks up again.

“You could always start with three people instead of four.”

She says it slowly and with more enunciation than seemingly necessary.

It’s so out of place that the only word in Allison’s mind is _weird_. The statement also offers her something she can latch onto, just maybe the possibility to think about something else, instead of dwelling on her leaving her family.

Kira doesn’t seem to know what to say to that either. A silence stretches between them and begins to feel awkward, but Lydia doesn’t even notice; she’s too preoccupied thinking about whatever just went through her brilliant brain.

Kira finally breaks the silence. “Weren't they all having sex with Danny, and sometimes with each other, until Danny was angry enough to make a PowerPoint to explain the concept of polyamorous relationships? It doesn’t sound to me like they started off with four…”

Allison doesn’t laugh, but she smiles and feels warmer again - lighter. To what Kira says next, she can only wholeheartedly agree.

“Honestly, I personally don’t need one, two or even three others, I already have you guys.”

She is a bit pink on the cheeks again, but even Lydia smiles. And despite the warmth filling Allison at those words, it feels needless to say it back to her, like it would be stating the obvious.

Allison frowns. _Weird_.

 

* * *

 

From that moment on, Allison starts to notice things.

For example, when they make Eggnog, they keep sneaking alcohol into it and acting in turn like they don’t see the others doing it, which gets _slightly_ out of control when it develops into a full blown competition of who can actually get away with it. (She wins.)

Or when they try to place the fairy lights around the tree: Lydia keeps swearing she’ll summon an ancient God to help them with these damn things while Kira just tries to make the best out of it, and Allison itches to argue with Lydia.

It's the way they act around each other. In their sheltered little Christmas bubble Allison knows, these are smaller, softer examples. They bicker, they rub each other the wrong way, and they are far too skilled in weaponry and martial arts to let real arguments resolve peacefully.

They aren’t a well oiled machine that always anticipates and reacts perfectly, but rather the rusting grandfather clock passed down as a family heirloom which only grates the nerves with its loud ticking and consistently inconsistent timekeeping.

Allison remembers well how different their friendship had been back in high school, how they’d been more of the former than the later. But with every lost battle, every death, every vanished possibility, they had been forced to grow up quicker, collecting sharp edges and hollow wounds.

When they had attempted to live normal lives it had been catastrophic, but on the road hunting monsters and fighting nightmares, those sharp edges and pieces somehow fit.

Only now does Allison realize the underlying harmony that keeps them running: their own metaphorical grandfather clock. The thought makes her grin and stops her breath.

Kira throws her a questioning glance, but Allison just continues to smile down at their tree topper for five more minutes.

 

* * *

 

It's just so strange for Allison to think about. She wonders how she couldn’t have noticed earlier; maybe it really had always been there. It’s evident in the spikes her heart rate makes when Lydia or Kira smile at her, the tingles when they touch, and the warmth in her belly when she’s in a room with them.

Regardless of how new or not it is, her mind is more befuddled now around Kira and Lydia than the spiked eggnog could ever achieve… not that she doesn’t try. On their second evening, the one before “Christmas”, Allison is already halfway through her third glass, and every sip burns its way down her throat. She’s beginning to lose hope that it can overpower the way her friends make her feel.

It doesn’t really matter anyway, not when they’re loudly singing Christmas songs from where they sit facing their finished tree, their faces illuminated only by its fairy lights.

After the second glass, they had begun to joke about going carolling door to door. Lydia sings well enough for all of them, they agreed, but Kira refused to go even after being persuaded to drink a fourth glass of eggnog.

Now only the banshee sings. Allison lets her voice wash over her and settles more comfortably into the sofa, squished between the others. She drinks a sip of eggnog and stares at the Christmas tree until the lights become blurred points in a sea of green and red and blue.

She never had such a nice Christmas with her family.  
All too often, they would have been freshly moved into a new house, or were about to move out again. The halls were decked with cardboard boxes instead of decorations. One memorable Christmas, her father had almost bled out on the couch after a hunt, but that still had been a better holiday than the ones where her grandfather had visited.

It’s strange how this old house they’re currently squatting in feels more like a home then all the places she’d lived in with her family. Maybe Kira is right; she has a new family now, one she has actually chosen.

She giggles to herself. It's silly. If only her parents- no, her whole hunter family- could see her now: celebrating Christmas on March ninth with a banshee and a kitsune and a letter from two werewolves on the kitchen counter.

She’s jolted back to the current events as Lydia switches to _Last Christmas_ and Kira promptly joins in, eliciting a groan from Allison. _She needs more alcohol to suffer through that. And not in any way because I’ve let my thoughts wander to my killer family,_ she thinks, _again_.

The bottles on the coffee table that they’d filled with eggnog are empty, so she pushes herself out of the cushions and moves carefully into the kitchen.

As soon as she is gone, Allison can hear Kira snicker and whispering to Lydia. They really shouldn’t have filled her with eggnog when attempting to convince her of pestering their unsuspecting neighbors. She can only hope that Lydia stays strong against whatever plan Kira has come up with now.

Allison takes two bottles and nearly drops them as she turns, because Lydia has suddenly appeared in the doorway, a drunken smile on her perfectly painted lips. Allison swallows past the sudden dryness in her mouth and walks up to her, proffering the bottles to Lydia. “Want some?”

“Maybe,” Lydia says, and takes a step back.

Kira has begun singing _Last Christmas_ again, softly hiccupping, and Allison feels like she’s forgetting something as she follows Lydia. One step, two steps, and she is standing under the door frame. Kira laughs and Lydia smiles like a cat that caught a rabbit.

She wastes no time as she puts her arms around Allison's waist to draw her in, and Allison remembers the mistletoe as her skin catches fire and her breath stops. Then their lips meet and all thoughts rapidly melt away like the fake snow on the window sills never will.

Lydia’s lips are soft and welcoming in a way boys’ lips have never been. The arms wrapping around her aren’t the only things that are drawing her in, and Allison tries to give back all she can as she tastes vanilla, nutmeg and the sharp sting of alcohol on Lydia’s lips and tongue.

Distantly she realizes that Kira has switched to  _Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer_.

The kiss is kind of perfect.

Allison’s cheeks are heated when Lydia slowly pulls away after what feels like an eternity. She then tries to form real thoughts, perhaps something to say, but she quickly gives up. Lydia's breath comes in short little puffs over her lips, the lipstick smeared, and it’s Allison’s turn to smile like the Cheshire cat. But as she lets her gaze wander higher, she doesn’t see the fiery look she expects.

Instead, Lydia wears the same quizzical look she had after discussing Stiles’ Christmas card. _Weird_.

Allison can’t begin to figure the puzzle out in her drunken state, so she turns to Kira, who has stopped singing. She takes a big gulp from her glass as they lock eyes.

“Looks like we’ve almost gone full circle,” Lydia remarks, and pulls Allison even closer into her side. The redhead presses a quick kiss onto Alliso's shoulder before loosening her grip again.

“I don’t know if Pancake can top your kiss, Lydia.”

Kira grins. She hiccups once. Her focus is slightly blurred from the eggnog and her cheeks are flushed; the latter may be more than just her drink. _I can work with that,_ Allison decides.

“Well, can we try?” she asks, and walks over to the couch, masterfully handling the tilting of the floor.  
As an afterthought, she places the bottles on the coffee table before bracing herself on the armrest of the sofa. Kira gazes up at her, and Allison is sent back in time to being seventeen again when _the_ other person was waiting for her at the end of the corridor. Her heart skips a beat.

She starts to lean forward, all her intent fixed on the lips before her, but she stops herself when Styles’ and Danny’s voices fight their way through her sluggish brain, shouting about respecting boundaries and sexual identities. They’d made a PowerPoint for that too.

Through her indecisiveness, she feels Kira’s breath ghost over her lips, and then Kira presses up against her. The kiss is playful and curious and inexperienced in a way Lydia’s kiss hadn’t been. Allison is so taken aback that Kira actually closed the distance between them that it takes her a moment to react, but she soon gets over it.

 

* * *

 

The headache that pulls Allison from sleep is the worst, even worse than the ugly Christmas sweater she wakes up in, which has a 3D reindeer on the front. She groans. _Eggnog…never again_.

She heaves her body from the soft, warm and way too welcoming mattress and moves downstairs, trying to keep as much of her hunter grace as she can in the process.  
To her surprise, it seems as though she’s the only one awake; there’s no Lydia or Kira in sight. She decides against calling through the house in favor of a search for aspirin. In the end, Allison has to look in the trunk of their car. Next to Stiles’ Adderall for when they hunt together are their various (and mostly stolen) painkillers.

After taking two, she doesn’t really know what to do with herself. She could make hot chocolate; they still have tiny marshmallows somewhere. When she sees their tree standing in the middle of the room, however, she turns and goes back to the car.

This time, she digs through what they have under their trunk floor, filling her arms with arrowheads, knives and whatever else she deems useful.

On the living room floor, she gets to work and starts cutting and wrapping yarn around the dagger collection. After she is finished, she converts the arrowheads into Christmas decorations too. It’s almost eleven when she leans back to admire the finished job: thirty arrowheads with little bows where the shaft should be and strings to hang them up, and ten daggers much in the same way.

Allison starts off with the latter and attaches four in between their Christmas stockings over the fireplace.

She steps back to take it in. It looks surprisingly good. The daggers are polished and decorative, but also threatening enough to capture their hunter life style nicely. Whoever might break in would think twice about robbing them.

Next, she goes about hanging all the arrows from the tree. This turns out to be painstaking work. For one thing, the pine tree is already decorated, and it’s more difficult than she thought to find an empty space where she still can hang an arrowhead without knocking anything else loose. Also, she also isn’t a fan of how the needles keep poking into her fingers while she tries to wrestle the yarn into a knot. She can sew wounds up well enough, but it doesn’t mean she likes this kind of work.

Allison has just finished one side of the tree when she’s startled by two sets of footsteps on the stairs. She completes the bow she is working on and then turns to greet the others. Kira and Lydia step into the living room still bleary eyed and hung-over; Kira actually hisses against the strong light that comes through the windows. Lydia is the first to react to the changes, and she drifts towards the daggers to get a closer look.

“It definitely gives the house a new kind of flair,” she says. However, before she can reach the fireplace, Allison follows a whim and pulls her into a hug as she passes by.

“Not only will our presents be safe, but I also thought it feels more like us now,” Allison explains into her hair.

Lydia wiggles a bit in her grip, but Allison sees her smiling. Out of the corner of her eye, Allison notices Kira standing next to the tree. She turns to see her give one of the arrows a soft nudge. They all silently watch it twirl.

“It isn’t finished, is it?” Kira asks.  
Allison shakes her head, and together they hang up the rest of the unique decorations before separating to fetch their respective hangover cures.

Lydia takes the advice of the newest studies and makes herself a fruit salad and espresso. Kira spends half an hour in the kitchen performing what looks like a satanic ritual, but what she swears is actually an old Japanese recipe. Allison also follows tradition, even if she does it with a bitter aftertaste.

She still remembers her first time getting drunk, when Kate had sat down with her and three six packs. The next morning, she had felt awful and her aunt had made her blood sausage wrapped in bacon with avocado. She had laughed while she had cooked, and had ruffled her hair afterwards, telling her that her brother didn’t have to know about it. Back then, Kate had been the coolest person ever, and everything had seemed worth it: the hunter lifestyle, the moving around, the friends left behind. Now Allison knows better, but the hangover cure from all these years ago is still the one she chooses to use every time.

 

* * *

 

It's afternoon when Allison and Kira are forced to leave their cozy little Christmas bubble and drive to the mall so Lydia can work on their presents. Kira says she has something planned too, but Allison feels totally clueless.

The mall looks a bit run down, but Kira walks purposefully towards it after she finally finds a spot in the surprisingly full parking lot. Allison has to wiggle through the people to keep up.

“Slow down! Not everyone here has supernatural abilities,” she says as she swerves around an elderly couple that teeters into her path. The kitsune twists around at the waist and sticks out her tongue, but she relents to Allison’s frustration by holding out her right hand, which Allison takes without thinking twice. Kira’s skin sends waves of electricity through her, and she thinks she can even taste thunder on her lips.

After a while they separate, Kira ducking into a Toys-R-Us, and Allison starts drifting, rubbing her left hand absentmindedly. She has a few ideas for what to do, but she isn’t entirely convinced on any of them. This Christmas feels like it really matters for the first time in years, and she doesn’t want to ruin it with impersonal or useless presents.

She sees fliers hanging everywhere announcing a flea market in bold letters, so she decides to give it a try after an hour of finding nothing in the shops.

She sends a quick message to Kira that she has taken the car, and ten minutes later, Allison is standing before a cluster of tables and tents. The first three booths only seem sell old shoes and scratched CDs. The owner of the fourth screams after her about his cheap prices, and she has to shut him up with a pointed look. The rest are mostly boring, with the only promising thing being a Chanel bag, which Allison doesn’t buy because it does look kind of fake. 

She almost gives up hope when she finds herself standing in front of one of the last stands, a table that some kid has filled to the brim with old board games and whatever else a sixteen-year-old can find to sell so he can buy the newest Xbox.

The polaroid camera is a bit dusty, but nevertheless, it seems to be in working condition. She doubts the kid is in the position to sell the vintage camera, but it isn’t her problem if he gets into trouble at home. She buys it for twenty dollars.

While Allison walks to the car, she gets a text from Kira about meeting up for coffee; Lydia still hasn’t given them the clear to come home. Allison agrees but before she quickly buys photo film for her new gift in a pricey shop back at the mall. She tells herself she is lucky to even find anything that works for the polaroid camera, and pays the bill. Well, with one of her stolen credit cards, that is.

 

* * *

 

Standing by the window and looking out at the street, Allison can’t help but feel depressed. The last of winter is disappearing, but spring hasn’t yet begun. Nature is caught between seasons; it’s no snowy wonderland anymore and no hopeful blossoming landscape either. It’s just an all-encompassing grey.

But when she turns around, she is hit with the full force of Christmas. Garlands and fake snow rest on every available surface, and the spaces between are filled with a glistening tree, stockings over the fireplace, and the mischievous mistletoe in the doorway.

Somehow, this silly decoration makes her feel lighter, younger, and she realizes for the first time how she had been weighed down and worn thin. All the tension of the past months is stripped away in just three days, and replaced with warm cozy feelings. Allison knows who she has to thank for that. She throws one last glance at the outside world before she turns her back.

Kira is sitting on the sofa with a magazine, but at the moment she’s not really reading. Allison had felt her gaze on her, and even now, as her friend acts again as if she were reading, she can feel the worry radiating off of her.

Her insides contract into knots, because only now it becomes clear to her how her own misery must have affected her friends, who had never done anything else but stand beside her. She gazes at Kira until the she stops pretending to read and instead starts to squirm under Allison's bright smile.

“You alright Ally? Did Christmas in March fry your brain?” she asks.

“No, I'm perfect,” Allison says, and softer, “Thank you.” Kira's smile that follows tries to rival her own, and she stretches out her arm to pull Allison onto the sofa as soon as the brunette lays her hands in hers. She goes without much protest.

Sitting next to each other quickly turns into cuddling as Kira puts her arms around Allison, and she in turn snuggles into the Kitsune’s side. “It’s all pretty stupid sometimes, isn’t it? Running around and fighting monsters,” Kira says, gazing at their tree full of weapons.

“If you look at it from the outside, then yes,” Allison muses. “But don’t for a second act like you don’t love it.” Allison nudges her friend in the side and Kira tries to wiggle away, but she doesn’t deny it.

“Katana-wielding badass Kitsune,” Allison echoes Lydia.

Kira starts to blush and Allison´s heart rate picks up again. Being this close to her makes her somehow feel wound up and settled down all in the same moment. One could almost say it was _weird_.

Allison feels a new weight on her shoulder as Kira lowers her head, and when she starts to rub little circles into her skin, she feels the warmth spread through her body like pebbles scattered into a lake.

The silence is broken by a soft voice. “Room for one more?” They scoot to make space for Lydia, who plops down next to Allison without much ceremony and settles her head in Allison's lap, her bare feet stretched out over the armrest.

Allison feels sandwiched--strangely but very nicely sandwiched. Without much thought, she lets her hands wander through the redhead’s locks, and the soft smell of her shampoo rises up to her nose. Strawberry.

She trails her hands through Lydia’s hair and over her scalp, and listens to nothing in particular.

“ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_ ,” she says after a moment, even though she doesn't really want to. Kira’s hand stills, and she can feel both of her friends stiffen. “ We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Do you think I made the right choice?”

“Of course you did,” Lydia answers without any hesitation, any doubt. “You chose morally right, but more importantly, you chose yourself. They can keep their screwed hierarchy and their even more screwed code. You are born to be a leader, no matter what.”

Lydia raises one arm over her head and searches for the hand that had stopped moving in her hair. She takes it and presses gently. Kira starts rubbing again too, softer.

“Do you think we should ask Danny for his Power Point about polyamory?” Allison asks before pressing a quick kiss onto Lydia's forehead.

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re alright.”

“As long as there is nothing more than kisses for me,” Kira says and makes an overdramatically disgusted face at them. Allison gives her a kiss on the cheek.


End file.
